


The Sting

by TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bees, First Kiss, Fluff, John is a good doctor, M/M, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 21:10:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4278066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy/pseuds/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft gets stung by a wasp and John makes it alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sting

**Author's Note:**

> I got stung by a wasp today and it hurts like hell. This is one way of coping, I guess.

Warm weather, sunshine and good company. John was enjoying himself immensely. When the invitation from Sherlock's parents for a summer garden party arrived, the doctor only stumbled upon it by chance - an elaborately decorated envelope on top of the pile of paper they used to start fires in the fireplace with. He knew it was probably bad manners to read the contents, but Sherlock wouldn't have bothered either. That didn't make it okay - but sometimes John really couldn't be bothered anymore. And that's how he found out about the party and dragged Sherlock out there.

To his surprise he found that this was the first garden party Sherlock had attended since moving out and that his parents were overjoyed to have him. They had given up hope long ago and only sent the invitations out of habit. So when the pair arrived, the party motto was changed to John's honour - the man who actually managed to get Sherlock to leave his home. At first John was embarrassed, but he quickly found himself at ease between the Holmes' family friends.

He was chatting with another former army captain when he heard a loud "Ouch!" and some curses in his vicinity. He turned around to see Mycroft looking angry, putting his glass down and excusing himself. John walked over to Sherlock, who had been standing close enough.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Nothing really," Sherlock grinned, looking like in a good mood for the first time since he arrived. "But if you want a good laugh, now's your chance."

Sherlock didn't give any more details, just pointed to the door, through which Mycroft had disappeared. John was slightly confused and proceeded to go after the older Holmes brother.

The cold air inside the old stone house enveloped him and made it easier to breathe. Only now he realised how hot it had been outside. The hallway was quiet. It seemed like everyone else was still outside. Now where could Mycroft had gone? Slowly, as not to startle him, John started to explore the ground floor. Drawn blinds and curtains kept the heat outside and the rooms in a comfortable twilight. Stepping through the door to the sitting room, John could make out running water from the kitchen. He opened the door to find Mycroft standing next to the sink, hand under the presumably icy water. The taller man was wearing light cloth trousers in a creamy white and a white shirt with rolled up sleeves, looking every bit the English countryside man. He faced away from the door and John could only see his back.

"You can leave, John," Mycroft said quietly, before the doctor had uttered a word. "I'm okay. It's nothing."

"What is nothing?"

"I... uhm... I got stung. A wasp," Mycroft's voice waivered slightly, but he still didn't turn around. "To answer your next question: No, I am not allergic. It's all fine."

John stepped closer anyway, which prompted an immediate reaction.

"John, please. I know you're a doctor, but I can assure you..."

"You're shaking, Mycroft," John said softly. "It doesn't seem fine."

"Please, John. Please, just leave..." the other man pleaded, now with a heavy voice.

"Let me at least see where..."

John stopped dead in his tracks when Mycroft suddenly turned, face full of anger and tears streaming down his cheeks. The man was still shaking, now even more than before. He took in the whole picture and the doctor in him placed the signs immediately.

"Are you happy now that you've seen me like this?" Mycroft snapped, but his voice sounded almost broken. "Here to have a laugh? Please, don't hesitate on my account."

"Laugh? Why would I laugh?"

"Sherlock sent you in, didn't he? Of course he did. He always had a field day with this. With me."

"With what?"

"Wasps, John. And bees. Any of these. I..." Mycroft sank back against the counter. "I am horribly afraid of them. Sherlock knows, of course. And maybe you have seen how much he loves bees. He would always catch them, release them next to me, just to see me jump. Just to see me cry and lose my cool..."

Oh. Now it all fell into place. John knew how siblings could be with each other, but the Holmes brothers always had been a special case. And in this particular instance Sherlock apparently hadn't known when to stop and Mycroft's emotional scars had been piled on top of a natural fear of bees and related insects.

"I'm not here to laugh at you, silly," John said and then grinned at Mycroft's raised eyebrow, judging the doctor's choice of words. "Now sit down before you collapse."

"I am not..."

"Mycroft, you are having a mild panic attack. No, don't argue with me, I know the signs when I see one," John pulled out a chair next to the kitchen sink, so Mycroft could sit and still hold his wrist under water. "Sit down."

Mycroft hesitated just a little but sat down with a sigh. John was now standing close enough to take a good look at him. The man was still shaking and breathing in short, fast intervals. A glance at the wrist showed a red spot, but no visible swelling.

"Let me have a look?" he asked again.

Mycroft removed his arm from the water and held it out. John took it in both hands, relishing the touch of cold skin. After a thorough inspection of the wound, he frowned. Mycroft opened his eyes in shock, but John reacted quickly.

"Seems like part of the stinger is still in the wound. Want me to get it out?"

Mycroft sucked in air and started to breathe faster again. John gently pushed him upright.

"Breathe evenly. You're okay. I'm a doctor, remember? You couldn't be in better hands right now," John smiled. "Do you have a first aid kit around?"

"It should be in the cupboard next to the door," Mycroft answered and John went to retrieve it.

Getting a pair of tweezers from the kit, he sprayed some disinfectant onto the wound and got to work. Half a minute and several curses from his patient later, John had removed all residue he could make out and nodded approvingly. Mycroft was allowed to put his wrist back into the cold stream of pain relieving, icy water. He sighed as the water started to dull the feeling in his hand.

“My parents know, of course. Sherlock does, too,” Mycroft said slowly while watching John clean up the medical supplies. “But no one else. I mean, how could I tell anyone? The British government reduced to tears at the sight of a fluffy insect? Unable to function because of a buzzing noise? I should be laughed at, really…”

“Please, now you’re just being dramatic.”

Mycroft huffed. “I wish I could make it go away, but it just gets worse. I dread meetings out in the open - functions like this garden party, which I have to attend. I always keep away from the food, the sweets, which draw them in. But in the end I get stung anyway.”

“A phobia is nothing you have to be ashamed of, Mycroft,” John pulled another chair over and sat next to Mycroft, so close, their shoulders were almost touching. “Give me your hand.”

John held out his left hand, palm facing upwards. Mycroft hesitated.

“Come on, place it on top of mine, palm upwards. Don’t worry, I bite only when asked,” the doctor grinned.

Finally, Mycroft placed his hand down. John let his right hand fingers hover over Mycroft’s palm. “Okay?” As he received a nod, he started rubbing slow circles over the inside of the other man’s hand, first with a light touch, then harder, almost massaging the skin. He repeated that motion for a while, until he felt Mycroft slumping into his chair, some tension leaving his shoulders.

“Better?” John asked, but didn’t stop the motion.

He received a humming noise as answer and took it as a Yes, as Mycroft made no attempt to remove his hand from John’s grasp. The doctor could see that the taller man had closed his eyes and noticed a much more even breathing rate.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Yes, I believe so. Even though the water has made the area quite numb.”

“It will probably sting at least through tonight, maybe tomorrow. You could rub some salve on it up speed up the healing process. I saw something that might fit in the med kit.”

“Always me,” Mycroft sighed. “Sherlock can run into a swarm of bees, have them crawling all over him, and emerge unscarred. I stand at the edge of a party, barely moving, and that infernal insect stings me.”

“You seem better now. Ready to go back out?”

As soon as John had asked, he wished he hadn’t. Mycroft pulled back his hand and turned away from the doctor. “I don’t think so. I will remain here. The damage has been done, and it’s not like I am needed out there.”

“Mycroft, look at me.”

“I refuse.”

John stood up and walked around Mycroft until the other man couldn’t turn away very well because that would remove his wrist from the water stream. The doctor took a deep breath and placed both his hands on each side of Mycroft’s face, making him look at John. What he saw tugged at his heartstrings more than he would admit. Mycroft’s eyes were watery with tears, some already rolling down. He looked more open and vulnerable than John had ever seen him. His phobia must have been a lot worse than John had thought.

“Please, don’t make me go back out there. Not now…” Mycroft pleaded, voice very small while he tried to suppress the tears.

“Of course you don’t need to go if you don’t want to. Take all the time you need,” John smiled.

And then Mycroft did something John hadn’t expected. He raised his uninjured arm to John’s back and grabbed onto the smaller man’s shirt, effectively pulling him in closer, until Mycroft’s head was resting on John’s chest. The doctor now stood between Mycroft’s legs and also put his arms around his patient. They stood like that for a while until John felt Mycroft calm down again.

He then stepped back a little bit, which made Mycroft look up again. Gathering all his courage, John leaned forward, ever so slowly, to give Mycroft enough time to react. But the older Holmes didn’t move one bit and John’s lips joined with his in a long kiss. As the doctor straightened himself up, he felt Mycroft tugging him down again.

“If your intention was to distract me from the pain, please continue, because it’s working brilliantly.”

John now sported a wide grin. “If you want distraction, there are much more effective methods.”

“Do enlighten me.”


End file.
